Love She Can't Live Without
by Gie
Summary: VejiitaBulma Songfic. First in my Songfic Universe. Read Now. You wil enjoy!


Love She Can't Live Without   
by Gie (phowah@cs.com) 

Toriyama Akira created the vibrant characters of Dragonball Z. 

The Man in the Black Hat, Clint Black, embodied the relationship   
between Bulma and her two males in the lyrics. 

The Story Idea is mine; it came to me in a dream. The chorus   
wouldn't leave my mind until I penned this story. Scout's honor! 

The story takes place after Friiezer's defeat by Trunks-oujisama,   
and before the Androids...duh...It's my first songfic, and it had to be   
written...my subconscious TOLD me too...yell at it if you must... 

This is Songfic #1 in my Universe. It beings the untold story...   
_~*~_   
_He gives her attention, he's constantly, carefully planting the seeds_   
_The only thing missing, is really the only thing she needs_   
_And he can't give that to her and she can't find it with him_   
_So she'll have to find her way out of love she's not really in_   
_~*~_

  
As the stars flickered in the sky, blinking out the silent   
lullaby in the minds and hearts of all the creatures on Kami-sama's   
Green Chikyuu, one soul was not soothed by the lovely melody. The   
troubled soul of the blue-haired genius tossed and turned in the   
rumpled sheets of the large bed she and her lover shared. 

Bulma finally stopped the fruitless attempt of slumber and   
paused on her back, eyes fixed blindly on the ceiling. A quiet sigh   
escaped her lips as she realized that sleep would not take her   
troubles away this night, as it had in nights past. She fingered the   
soft cottony sheet that covered her small frame, feeling the smooth   
fibers glide between her fingers. Her eyes wandered around the   
sparsely decorated room, seeking out an answer to her awakeness on   
this moonless night. 

As her twilight-hued eyes danced from object to object,   
fixing upon some longer than others, they came to rest on the   
reason. Or at least, the major reason at the moment within sight.   
As her gaze traveled up and down the large frame of her lover, it   
paused on his face. That scarred, innocent-in-slumber, visage that   
she and the world has come to associate with, and know, as Yamucha.   
She knew each curve and crevice by heart, and could interpret it's   
expressions like a well-read book. 

Another shallow sigh escaped her lips and she turned away   
from him, her back facing the heavy breathing that bordered on   
snoring. The snoring wasn't what bothered her this night; she could   
sleep through a tsunami and still get a good eight hours. No, there   
seemed to be something missing in her life, something that had been   
missing for a long time. 

Bulma snorted to herself--what, you say, what would Bulma   
Briefs be missing in her life? She's the richest woman in Western   
Capital; President of Capsule Corporation, the largest corporation in   
the area; tons of friends and activities to occupy her time, and the   
man of her dreams laying next to her. A wonderful, sweet life that   
many a person envies and covets. Those things are all well and fine,   
but that is not the true woman--within the glorified shell known as   
Bulma Briefs, a dark hole gnawed at her heart.   
_~*~_   
_She can live with what goes with leaving_   
_She knows it's the only way_   
_Though it kills her to give up believin'_   
_She can't live with herself if she stays_   
_~*~_

  
She thought she filled it when she found Yamucha out in the   
desert--his warm arms, his bright smile, and his open heart. She   
felt complete; the gnawing hole that existed within her soul was   
filled at last. But lately, the hole that she thought had filled with   
the love Yamucha freely offered her had reopened; the open sore   
lost it's scab and was bleeding once again. Easy to fix, but hard to   
heal. 

They both had given much to the relationship to make the   
roots grow strong and deep. At first, it was bliss and both partners   
were happy to just be in each other's embrace. But once again,   
things and thoughts and feelings have changed. It wasn't overnight,   
but bit by bit, crack by crack, the hole splintered, shattered, and   
broken open once more. Bulma realized things were falling apart   
between them. 

But had he? 

Bulma had to admit, she thought so. His mind, which   
remembered every date and intricate detail that occurred so far in   
their span together as a couple had become so full of holes, Swiss   
cheese was more concrete than his memory. In the past month,   
Yamucha had 'forgotten' or canceled seven of their prearranged   
encounters; citing conflicts or just plain forgetfulness. She brushed   
off the first few, smiling and rearranging the evening to   
accommodate his needs. 

But tonight was the final straw. 

He 'claimed' that he didn't about the estate dinner, and that   
he had already made plans without her with his baseball buddies.   
Didn't she mention a girls' night out with ChiChi? She pointed out to   
him that those plans had been canceled almost two weeks ago when   
she found out about the important business dinner she was required   
to attend. He had agreed to be her escort for the gala readily.   
What do you think that tux in your closet was there for? An air   
freshener? Decoration? She had been so mad at him, she felt she   
could explode. 

Yamucha stumbled over his apologies, sounding false, faked   
and half-assed to her ears. He claimed he couldn't cancel with the   
guys--is was an important night for them, as well. He had suggested   
that she come back over after the dinner, and they'd spend the rest   
of the night in each other's arms. Bulma grumbled loudly at being   
'dessert,' but hesitantly agreed, saying she'd be there about ten. He   
agreed and even repeated the time back to her. 

As she lay there, on her side of the large bed, the sea-blue   
water nymph scowled darkly. The love and trust she put in the   
warrior lying next to her was growing thinner and thinner. What was   
so important that he couldn't cancel for her? She rearranged and   
rescheduled and canceled many meetings and opportunities for   
him--what was the one night to him? She had arrived at his   
apartment around ten, as stated, but he was still not there. As she   
waited, and the minutes grew into hours, her patience grew tauter   
and less compliant. 

Around two, Yamucha stumbled in, drunk off his ass, reeking   
from the evil smells of partying too hard at a bar or three. She   
finally had given up on him and had gone to bed. She came out into   
the living room to rip his heart out through his nostrils, but he had   
just brushed her off, claiming fatigue. She tried to ask about his   
night; where he was, what he did, why he was four hours later than   
she, but he just snapped at her to mind her own business and   
crawled into bed, ignoring her protests to tell her what was going on.   
Bulma finally gave up when she heard his snores. She grumbled   
loudly for the second time that night and crawled in next to him. 

Yes, things had changed. Feelings had changed.   
_~*~_   
_She could settle for what she's feeling_   
_If she gave in and worked this one out_   
_She doesn't want the kind of love she can live with_   
_She wants the kind of love she can't live without_   
_~*~_

  
Now, as she lay there, wrapped in the soft embrace of the   
blankets and the night, not the man next to her, her thoughts began   
to wander to the other upset in her life. An upset that had forced   
himself into her life and pummeled mercilessly on her patience and   
attitude. The embodiment of the words 'cranky' and 'stubborn.' 

Sure, she had initially invited him into her home; he had   
nowhere else to go or to stay, and her generous, willing heart made   
sure she gave everyone at least one chance to be cared for, to be   
loved. The demonic nature of the Saiya-jiin openly rejected her   
attempts of friendship and companionship, claiming 'training, food   
and killing that baka Kakarotto' were the only things needed to   
satisfy his life. Bulma smirked to herself--those three were not   
always in that particular order. 

But the cruel and uncaring dark side of the Prince was not   
always present, at least not to his knowledge. At night, several   
times she would be awakened from deep slumber when she would   
hear him cry out; when she'd run to his room, she'd find him in the   
throes of a horrendous nightmare. She would set herself next to   
him on the bed, hold his clammy hand, and whisper calming and   
soothing words into his ear until he settled into peaceful slumber   
once more. Bulma would stay with him, watching the vicious scowl   
that he wore as a daily expression ease into a light frown that   
seemed to be the most peaceful expression in his repertoire. The   
next morning would find him in the same dark spirits that marked a   
normal day for the Saiya-jiin; as if the nightmare never happened.   
She never mentioned her midnight visits to him, and he never   
questioned her about his dreams. 

But that changed with the events of a few nights ago. She   
had been awoken once again by his cries, her body on automatic to   
his voice. She had ran to his side to comfort him through the   
duration of the dream, whispering the calming phrases, caressing his   
clenching fists with her soft fingers, trying to loosen their hold on   
the bed sheets. She leaned over his still body to wipe the sheen of   
sweat off his brow with a towel, but to her complete surprise her   
hand was halted by a steely grip on her wrist. 

She looked down and gasped slightly, for to her horror, his   
eyes had opened and locked their burning gaze upon hers. A deep   
scowl of confusion and displeasure formed on his chiseled features,   
giving Bulma an idea of what was to come. She tried to draw her   
hand away from the prone figure, but she was held tight to the spot   
she sat by his other hand on her waist. He released her wrist and   
brought his roughened fingers up to her cheek, lightly caressing the   
soft skin and brushing a few hairs that had strayed from her ear. 

The involuntary blush that rose from his gentle touch quickly   
spread across her cheeks and tingled the rest of her body, warming   
her and sending chills at the same time. She open her mouth to   
speak, to try to explain her actions--anything to break the stillness   
that filled the air, choking out all rational thought, but the awake   
enigma of a Saiya-jiin pressed a finger to her lips, and shook his   
head. The action, so un-Vejiita froze her mind, and her thoughts   
never came to fruition. Her twilight-hued eyes were locked on the   
midnight-hued ones of the male beneath her; both sets burned with   
questions unasked, answers untold, and feelings unrequited. 

Bulma blinked rapidly, trying to decipher the rapid thoughts   
echoing through her mind. But before the thoughts could become   
vocal, they were thrown out the proverbial window when Vejiita   
reached up and drawing her face close, brushed his lips across hers   
in one of the sweetest gestures she had ever received. Bulma drew   
back, surprise evident on her features. She lowered her gaze to the   
Prince below, and saw naked surprise spread across his olive skin.   
He couldn't believe what he did either. She chuckled slightly and   
graced him with a smile. Vejiita honored her with a quiet snort but   
was silenced when Bulma pressed her lips upon his to return the kiss.   
He didn't respond at first, but soon his response was evident by the   
passion and unbridled yearning that traveled between their simple   
motion. Their passion surged, and when one hand led to a piece of   
shed clothing later, the fruit of their loneliness climaxed amidst   
sweat and labored breathing. 

Bulma shivered deliciously; just remembering that   
passion-filled night of estcasy brought back feelings and sensations   
she had never experienced before that night. Never with the   
warrior next to her. Never dreamed she would ever feel. Her skin   
tingled, remembering the feel of his battle-roughened hands gliding   
across her smooth skin, touching, penetrating, teasing spots   
Yamucha or any other male never knew existed, let alone pleasured.   
The Dark Prince was surprisingly gentle with her, the brutal nature   
of his race not even hinted in the tender ministrations that sent her   
over the edge again and again, all through the night. 

Hours after the nightmare that brought the two lonely souls   
together in a heated embrace, they collapsed onto the sweat-soaked   
sheets, energy spent, but souls satisfied. No words were spoken, or   
needed. Both knew that the events that transpired within the walls   
that still echoed with their cries was what the other needed;   
desired; wanted. 

The holes were filled and sealed.   
_~*~_   
_She looks in the mirror and sees all the sadness in her eyes_   
_It's never been clearer what he's asking her to sacrifice_   
_But she can't be his forever, she can't even be his for now_   
_She'll have to be kind to them both and let go of him somehow_   
_~*~_

  
Bulma's smile of satisfaction soon faded into a grim line of   
indecision when the male next to her turned over with a loud snort.   
She knew what her options were, and the consequences of each. But   
what should she choose? 

Can you live in limbo after tasting heaven? 

Bulma sat up and sighed yet again as she threw off the clean   
cottony covers and made her way silently to the bathroom. After   
blinking a few times to clear the spots from her vision that the light   
created, she groaned at the image reflected back at her in the   
mirror. Heavy-lidded listless eyes blinked blearily back at the   
pasty-faced blue-haired genius, who sighed once more. She knew   
she looked bad--but this pale image made her look years beyond her   
time. 

She turned the tap on and splashed some of the water on her   
face, trying to shock some sense into her heart. Her mind and heart   
were on opposite ends of the battlefield warring against each other,   
trying to win the war over her soul. 

She glanced into the other room, watching the short-haired   
warrior sleep away his hangover. Unaware of what she was thinking,   
and attempting. Her mind saw the logical choice in Yamucha--he   
loved her, would always be there. A sturdy tree to weather life's   
storms. Loyal, dependable--predictable, boring, Yamucha. 

But her soul sings for Vejiita. The irrational, unpredictable,   
foul-tempered Prince pushed the control buttons on her temper   
every minute he was in her presence. The conceited, over-bearing   
Saiya-jiin rubbed her nerves and tested her patience with each   
cruel taunt directed at her. 

Most would have turned their backs on the rude creature;   
given up after the first hundred or so insults. 

But not Bulma. Not Her. 

Sure, she didn't like the insults. They hurt her pride, at   
first. But she also realized that the Saiya-jiin survivor didn't know   
how to interact with others; interpersonal communication was not   
developed in Friiezer's armies. It was considered a weakness, and   
weaknesses could get you killed. So Bulma let the insults slide off   
her back, and retaliated in the way the Prince understood in these   
verbal battles--with her own. After awhile, it became a challenge to   
see who could fluster the other first. 

Still, he usually won these skirmishes, for Bulma still didn't   
have much control over her temper. And you could see it in Vejiita's   
eyes and posture that he enjoyed these verbal spars as much as the   
physical ones he had with Goku. 

To tell the truth, she enjoyed them as well. 

But don't tell him that. 

Bulma stepped into the shower with a warm smile and a pink   
tinge to her cheeks, humming a nonsensical song. Things were   
beginning to fall into place.   
_~*~_   
_She can live with what goes with leaving_   
_She knows it's the only way_   
_Though it kills her to give up believin'_   
_She can't live with herself if she stays_   
_~*~_   
_She could settle for what she's feeling_   
_If she gave in and worked this one out_   
_She doesn't want the kind of love she can live with_   
_She wants the kind of love she can't live without_   
_~*~_

  
As she exited the bathroom, an air of school-girl giddiness   
surrounded the damp female. She quietly dressed, and grabbing a   
garbage bag from the tidy kitchen, she gathered what meager   
belongings she had there: scattered toiletries and several pieces of   
clothing left from other visits. There was never a real need to   
stock up on supplies since they usually spent their nights together at   
Capsule Corp. But when Vejiita arrived, and made her home, his,   
they decided that the pair needed more privacy. 

She gave the room one last look over, seeing if she had   
missed a knick-knack. Her topaz-hued eyes fell upon the lone   
picture that rested on the nightstand. It was of happier days gone   
by, of days to be remembered fondly. She picked up the frame and   
brushed a finger lightly over the cool glass. The scene was at   
Master Roshi's beach; she and Yamucha were side-by-side in the   
sand, arms wrapped around each other. Their heads rested against   
each other and both had a bright smile that would have lit any dark   
corner. 

A single tear fell silently on the glass as Bulma replaced the   
frame on the nightstand, face down. Those times were past. Time   
to move on.   
_~*~_   
_And the hardest part is she loves him_   
_But she doesn't want the kind of love she can live with_   
_She wants the kind of love she can't live without_   
_~*~_

  
She stood over the still sleeping Yamucha, a wisp of a smile   
hinting at the corner of her lips. She brushed back a lock of his   
hair from his forehead and placed a final kiss upon his brow. Picking   
up her bag, she opened the door and left without a word, or a   
backwards glance. 

To go home. 

To finally cement the hole in her soul. 

To Vejiita.   


Like? Dislike? Did it make sense? Let me know... 


End file.
